


mutually inclusive

by magisterequitum



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Coda, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 08:51:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/pseuds/magisterequitum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>donna really wishes people would stop asking her dumb questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mutually inclusive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abvj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abvj/gifts).



> spans from the fake trial to present on the show. I wanted to work more with Donna's anger, which was brushed aside on the show.

“Do you love Harvey Specter?”

The question comes out of nowhere, but maybe she should have expected it with how she’s been evading Louis’s questions with her semi-flippant responses of declining to answer; it’s not that she doesn’t get that this is important, that this matters, that this is her life and others here, she does, but it’s also that she’s had time to process, in between eating out the frozen dairy contents of her freezer and painting her living room that blue color she’s not sure she completely likes, and she’s angry now and above all doesn’t want to be here. As it is, the question isn’t surprising, not from Louis. It does make her pause, body freezing in the chair beneath her. Her throat tightens and the muscles of her face go slack.

Donna doesn’t waver her gaze from Louis. She tries to swallow and ignore the sharp inhale from somewhere in the back of the room. She hears it though, just as she feels how every face swings around to zero in on her.

She can’t look elsewhere because she wants to laugh. It’s on the tip of her tongue to do so, let it out, however inappropriate it would be, and she very nearly does so.

All she can think, the only answer that comes to mind is:

_What a stupid fucking question, Louis._

 

 

 

What a stupid fucking question because the answer’s known to anyone who thinks for longer than five seconds, though clearly that’s beyond him, or maybe it’s just that he’s taking this whole practice-for-real-court thing super goddamn seriously, but it doesn’t matter because it’s still a fucking stupid question with an answer that anyone in the room could give because it’s been over ten years and they’re a packaged deal, Harvey and Donna and Donna and Harvey, where one goes the other is right there, usually her making sure he’s got what he needs to take on the day, but he’s there too, they’ve always been there together, and how could it be anything but yes when she thinks back over the years and years that span between when she first met him and to now, all those hours of talking out plans of action and documents and files, the times where she steered him back onto course, the time she’d hidden away blackmail against Dennis for the future, the times he’d said thank you and helped her out of her own trouble, and really what a stupid fucking question, Louis.

 

 

 

 

She settles for answering with, “It’s not that simple.”

That’s easier than saying the jumbled mess of her thoughts in her head. It’s not a lie either. It really isn’t that simple.

Louis continues on, relentless in his dogged way of wanting an answer from her. Her ire rises and she knows her face is flushing, turning and unflattering shade of puce that clashes with her hair.

She’s saved ironically by the man who’s done nothing to say sorry or keep this all from happening. His shout gives her the distraction she needs to slip from the fake stand and shuffle out the door. It’s the one fucking thing that Harvey’s done right since all of this.

She doesn’t tell him that though. She doesn’t say anything at all as she lets the elevator close again while he tries to get to her.

“Fuck you,” Donna says to the silver door.

 

 

 

 

There’s a pounding on her door.

She knows who it is and wonders who let him in past the door. He probably snuck in past someone leaving or a delivery coming in, or maybe he buzzed one of her neighbors and charmed his way inside. She doesn’t give a shit.

“Go away, Harvey,” she says, yelling from where she’s uncorking a new bottle of wine in the kitchen. She doesn’t need to look through the hole either to know what he must look like.

“Can’t we talk? Come on, Donna, I want to talk.”

She has to give him some credit. Before she’d been pissed he wouldn’t do anything, that he didn’t fight for her at all, belly rolled over and just let it happen; ignoring even her fault in this, thank you very much. Now, she’s pissed he won’t leave her alone because now was the time he’d decided to come after her, right when she’d gotten fed up with him. Shit timing, that man.

“I don’t give a shit what you want, Harvey. Go away.”

Jesus Christ, it was her day for stupid questions, wasn’t it.

 

 

 

Weeks later, Donna drinks champagne and swings in his leather chair while her legs and feet stretch out on his desk. She’s feeling good. The alcohol sits nicely in her stomach and she’s giddy, high on the triumphant return and the smashing she’d helped bring about to one Daniel Hardman. If she ever saw him again, she’d give him one good hit across the face, she’s certain.

She’d thought Harvey was on the same page as her, thought the champagne and music and celebration was all about immersing themselves in the bubble of victory.

She’s wrong.

The record stops and instead of getting up to change it, to put in another, Harvey turns to her and asks, “Are we going to be okay?”

For a moment, her fingers tighten around her glass. She thinks of five different ways she can deflect this. Crack a joke, snipe at him, shift it around. She’d been done with her anger. She’d buried it deep down and pushed it aside to help him, to help her get her job back.

She raises an eyebrow at him. “You want to do this now?”

To his credit, he doesn’t shy away. He squares his shoulders and nods, looks both childish and old in that moment. In the city light from outside his office’s windows, his tie is crumpled and streaked with yellow, his hair uncoiffed, no longer perfectly styled.

Donna sighs and sets her glass down. It makes a hollow thud on the desk. It’ll probably leave a ring too. “That’s a really dumb question.”

He looks taken aback for a moment and then angry. His mouth drops open to speak.

She cuts him off with a sharp movement of her hand. “No, you wanted to do this, so you get to listen to me speak.” She waits till his mouth closes before she goes on. “It’s a dumb question because of course we are. It doesn’t change anything. None of this did.”

It really hadn’t. Hasn’t anyone been paying attention, she wonders.

“I’m still pissed at you. And I’m sure you’re still angry with me. I want to yell and scream and part of me wants to walk out and not come back.”

Harvey’s face stills. He’s tense and she can read the abandonment issues in his eyes as the panic sets in. She takes pleasure in it for a moment.

“But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

Their problems are something for another day. He doesn’t want to get into it, that’s not why he asked that. She thinks of the day and knows the train ride he’d made earlier this week. She knows that’s not what he wants here. She can be giving. She can be kind. She can reassure.

He gives her a little grin, smugness creeping back over his face. “I guess it was a little dumb. Always knew you couldn’t leave me.”

Donna snorts and picks up her glass again. “I’ve seen how you do without me. That blue suit you wore? Horrendous choice. You’re a walking mess of dumb mistakes without me around.”

 

 

 

Do you love Harvey Specter?

What a really fucking stupid question, but one whose answer isn’t for now. She'll hold onto it for now.


End file.
